Goblet Summons, Reading & Watching Collection
by CountingStarsx
Summary: Collection for any OS of its kind: Summoned! Harry, mostly during the Goblet of Fire but not only. Possible OS of the genre 'Watching' or 'Reading', in which Harry left or never studied at Hogwarts. Slash. Rating may change. Multi pairings. Possible MoD! HP.


**A disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. I do not make money out of this fan fiction.**

This is a translation of Goblet Summons, Reading & Watching Collection - Recueil by x-manga-Bleach-x. I don't own the story nor am I the original writer. I have just translated it from French to English. If there are any mistakes, which I'm sure there will be. Please be kind, this is the first time I have done this. Most of the stories will be centred around the TriWizard Tournament and in which Harry finds himself 'invoked' at Hogwarts, when his name comes out of the Cup.

Another thing, it can be fiction only centred around the HP universe or crossover with any fandom. This will generally be specified at the beginning of the chapter.

**Fandoms:** Katekyo Hitman Reborn [Akira Amano] + Harry Potter [JK Rowling]

**Universe:** T4 - Semi UA

Chronology, what chronology?

**Pairing:** light, very light Urquhart / Harry

**Warning:** Slight Bashing

Assassin! Cloud VARIA! Harry

**Words:** 7,200

**Summoning # 1**

**Blood on a marble wall**

The blood

It's the first thing Jason Urquhart experiences. In fact, it was a lie. It wasn't really the first thing he had seen, but it was the thing that seemed to him the most important at the time. He hadn't even focused on where the blood came from, no, all he saw was the carmine liquid dripping and crashing onto the green and silver table. Oh, Merlin, it was blood. In large quantities.

How did they get there?

The evening had started normally. During the last two days, all of the student volunteers and over the age of seventeen had paraded in the Great Hall to place a piece of parchment with their names on it in order to be potentially chosen to represent their school. The students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had done this well, they had chosen a specific time and had all deposited their names. However, if we wanted to be honest, of the fifteen and a few students from each delegation, only three or four had put their names into the Cup.

Jason had only moderate interest in the Tournament. He was not old enough to put his name on it and, in all honesty, even if he had been old enough, he would not have done it. Unlike most of his comrades, Jason looked around. It was dinner time and everyone was chatting animatedly. Beside him was his best friend, Adar Vaisey, in the same year as he. Both were waiting - like the rest of the school and the delegations - for the end of the dinner in order to finally know the identity of the champions of the upcoming tournaments. On the other hand, Jason was not particularly comfortable.

There was always something unexpected or even terrifying happening on Halloween. In any case, this had been the case for the past three years; in 1991, a troll had wandered the corridors of Hogwarts. They later learned that Professor Quirrell was responsible for the appearance of the Troll. The man's body had been found dead somewhere around May 91, but they had never been given an explanation. Coming back to the troll, he had seriously injured a Muggle-born Gryffindor, but she came back to school in January and managed to catch up to go into the second year, like all his comrades in the first year.

In 1992, there had been the first case of petrification. They had learned much later that this was the work of a possessed Weaslette, but everything had more or less ended well. Luckily the kid hadn't (for her) been shipped, but she wasn't undergoing therapy to recover either (it was something that was completely beyond Jason. How could we not offer her therapy?).

In 1993 Sirius Black managed to break into the Gryffindor Common Room. He hadn't stayed there long, and he still couldn't be found to this day. Luckily (for her) hadn't been shipped, but she was not undergoing therapy to recover either (it was something that was completely beyond Jason. How could we not offer her therapy?). He hadn't stayed there long, and he still couldn't be found to this day. So, Jason was not very comfortable with the evening of October 31.

"Ne, ne, ne, Jay, do you think Cassius is going to be chosen?"

Jason snapped out of his thoughts and turned his head to stare at Adar. It was a fact known to all - for the green and silver anyway - that Cassius Warrington had deposited his name into the Cup. Other Slytherins had put their names, but it was no secret, not even among the other houses, that Cassius was one of the best students and, for a Slytherin, he was quite popular. Cassius was the kind of reserved boy, but who got along mostly with everyone. Needless to say, if Cassius was chosen to represent Hogwarts, he would have the support of the whole house behind him.

"Your attention, please"

Instantly the two Slytherins straightened up, as did the other students. It is not that they liked the director of Hogwarts, no; on the contrary, they had certain contempt for him and did not like the masses. It must be said; however, Albus Dumbledore commanded attention. No matter how old he was, he was a powerful man. He had lost political influence in recent years, especially when public opinion learned that he had lost track of the Survivor and had in fact never kept an eye on him after dropping him off with his relatives. The old man assured the masses that young Potter was safe and loved by his family, but this could not be confirmed when the aunt of the Survivor - a certain Petunia Dursley, had closed the door on the Prophet's reporter, calling him an abnormality. In fact, if anything, it had just confirmed the fears of part of the population. On the one hand, that was how they learned that young Potter was no longer living with his blood family. On the other hand, some thought that he may have been abused when he lived with them. Impossible to prove anything, however, since Dumbledore had covered the Dursleys' tracks after the Dursleys left and refused to give their new location. Since the DMLE had no evidence against Muggles, it wasn't really like they could force the director to give them answers, without ignoring the protocol and it was one thing that Dumbledore was eager to let them know. The old man was definitely hiding something, but without the testimony of the Survivor in question, they could probably do nothing. The only reason Jason knew this was because his father worked at DMLE and often complained about Dumbledore's obstruction in most of the cases they worked on (and it happened that the Dursley case was the one of them even if, at this stage, you couldn't really call it a case since the victim had not given any sign of life for years and their suspects had disappeared from the face of the Earth, protected by that cursed Dumbledore).

Jason was so lost in thought that he missed part of Dumbledore's speech. Oh, it must not have been very interesting. Just blah, not enough to make a whole cheese (yes, he knew this expression. The Weasley twins had taught him).

"Honour to the ladies... the Champion of Beauxbatons is... Miss Fleur Delacour."

Polite applause resounded in the vast hall, until a dazzling young woman left her seat and approached the director, with grace and elegance. The applause; then became a little more enthusiastic, especially at the table of lions.

Jason rolled his eyes. He pinched Adar's thigh when he saw his friend's eyes expand slightly. Oh no, he was not going to let his best friend fall under the control of the half vela girl. He had nothing against these creatures in general; he knew how it was mostly not their fault, if all the men fell at their feet. But it turns out that he had also seen how the young Delacour acted during these last days and found his behaviour horrifying. And he said that while being polite.

"The Durmstrang Champion is... Viktor Krum."

No big surprise here - only three people had slipped their names for Durmstrang. Jason would have been more surprised if it had been someone else. More applause resounded for the Durmstrang champion as he approached the heads of the establishment, looking impassive. Young Urquhart applauded politely, at the same rate as his comrades.

"Finally, the Hogwarts Champion is... Mr Cedric Diggory."

Jason didn't miss the way Dumbledore forgot to add the 'Mr' to Krum. Apparently being a celebrity provided an opportunity for others to treat you as a public property. Once again, he imitated his comrades and applauded for the Hogwarts Champion, even if he was a little disappointed that it was not a Slytherin. It would have blocked a corner for them, at the other Houses, well.

"Okay, now if you want -"

Dumbledore was brutally interrupted by a most unusual event (at least Jason assumed it was unusual given the looks exchanged here and there by the adults). The blue flames of the Cup took on a disturbing blood-red colour and exploded around the artefact. Cries of surprise rang out from both sides of the room, and when things finally calmed down, a lonely piece of parchment was thrown from the Cup. The headmaster of Hogwarts caught him in flight and straightened his half-moon glasses on the tip of his nose. Jason didn't miss the old man's pleasantly surprised look and he frowned.

"Harry Potter."

How to say, he did not expect that. Jason blinked stupidly as Adar choked with his mouthful of pumpkin juice to his left. What? They had trouble hearing, right?

"Harry Potter?"

Jason did not like the content and hopeful tone of the old thing. He turned his head to the side and scanned the room piercingly. Around him, everyone was agitated and an incredulous murmur spread in the Great Hall. Everyone knew that the Survivor was missing. Everyone, even overseas, knew that the Survivor had never come to Hogwarts to go to school. But no one knew where he was. They didn't even know if he was alive, to tell you the truth. A strange, oppressive feeling took him in the guts and he withdrew slightly to himself, taking care not to be seen by his comrades. It didn't do it for a Slytherin to show his weaknesses in the open.

"HARRY POTTER!" Adar Vaisey grunted grimly. What was the other stamped, screaming like that? Did he think it was going to give him more power? The Cup caught fire and he swallowed a flood of insults reserved for Salazar knows what. The flames suddenly exploded in intensity and a jet of light crossed the room under the cries of surprise (of terror, really) from the young wizards. There was a huge noise, like an explosion, then the floor shook and Jason clung to the table. The flames calmed down then. Only then did everything returns to normal with one exception. There was a boy standing on the table. The blood, it is the first thing he saw. In fact, it was a lie. It wasn't really the first thing he had seen, but it was the thing that seemed to him the most important at the time. He hadn't even focused on where the blood came from, no, all he saw was the carmine liquid dripping and crashing onto the green and silver table. Oh Merlin, it was blood, in large quantities. Slowly, he watched the traces of blood and looked up to stare at the newcomer.

The stranger was a boy, barely younger than him. He had dark black hair, falling into his neck. They seemed sweet anyway and ended in spikes. But it wasn't his gravity-defying hair that caught his eye, no. It was his big emerald green eyes. And more than that, the large wound on the boy's shoulder. That was the origin of all this blood. The wound was still bleeding, at an alarming rate. The young man seemed on the verge of collapse, panting, his forehead sweating and a pained expression stuck on his pale face. Despite the countless injuries he wore (not just the one on his shoulder); the boy was still standing, refusing to show any more weakness. His gaze was cold and determined. Jason could respect that. And, uh! Could it be a piercing he wore on his lower lip? The boy, still panting, straightened up as best he could and managed to leave his place on the Slytherin table and land on the ground, barely staggering. Only then did he sweep the room with a straight face before settling on the adults in the Great Hall, still pressing the wound on his left shoulder with his right hand.

"I have three questions for you and you would rather have them answered quickly. First; Where am I? Second, how and why did you summon me? And, finally, who the hell are you?"

It was straight to the point. It was the least he could say. At least he wasted no time.

"Harry Potter?" said the director of Hogwarts. The newcomer's face stiffened and the information finally hit the brain of young Urquhart. It was Harry Potter. The boy who stood before them - all bloody and barely standing, but still able to maintain a threatening posture - was the Survivor. What the hell had happened to him?

"It's been years that I do not go by, this name," released the teenager in a dry voice. Crack. That was the rumour that all the preconceptions that he (and probably the others too) had made over the years - after being bathed in stories surrounding the life of the Survivor and his feat in the face of the Lord of Darkness-, when they broke irreparably. The boy in front of them was not an innocent loved and cherished boy, having spent his childhood in a castle or pampered by a loving family (Yes, people had more or less hung on to Dumbledore's reinsurance even after that a Prophet reporter recounted his meeting with the so-called Guardians of the Survivor and even after they learned that he was not with his Muggle family). That was a boy who had been missing for years and had learned to survive on his own.

"I asked you three fairly simple questions. If you don't answer me in the next few seconds, I will consider you kidnappers and react accordingly."

Jason was not the only one who heard the threat involved and exchanged a nervous look with his comrades. As much as his darkest friends wanted to laugh at the simple notion that the Boy-Who-Lived dares to threaten people like him, the Hero of the wizarding world -, it was obvious that the boy in front of them, had seen things and was probably more than capable of carrying out any threat whatsoever.

"Harry, my boy –"

It was enough. Jason barely had time to see how the stranger's eyes - Potter (or whatever he was going by now) narrowed, before he acted. The Slytherin saw him swing something, and then he saw out of the corner of his eye a silver glint. When he turned his head towards the teachers' table, they were all frozen in surprise (apart from Karkaroff, who looked half-frightened, half approving), as well as Flitwick and Vector, who, for some unknown reason, almost seemed fun. Dumbledore looked very pale as he turned his head behind him. Jason wasted no time in understanding the reason when, following his gaze, he came across a knife (a knife that had been placed on the Slytherin table a few seconds earlier), stuck in the wall, barely a few inches from the old man's head. Jason didn't even think the Hogwarts knives were sharp enough to stick in the wall and stay there. A startled murmur, a bit horrified, rose in the ranks. Those who did not like Dumbledore looked admiring and a bit envious. In fact, Jason was certain that even those who worshipped the director were somewhat admiring of the precision of the launch.

"You should be happy," said the boy, sarcastic. "Given my current condition, I was almost certain to miss and hurt you. I am not your boy." He grabbed another knife. "Now my questions, I want answers. Where, how, why and your identity, by the way, it would be frankly not bad."

Trembling, Ludo Bagman got ahead of Dumbledore before he could further enrage the newcomer. For once, he was not even able to congratulate himself on the arrival of The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Disappear.

"Yo - Your name came out of the Cup, Mr Pot - Monseigneur," said the man to himself (more than one Slytherin resisted the urge to snicker).

"What Cup?"

"The - The Triwizards Tournament Cup."

Seeing the boy's grimace, he knew what it was. "Can I find out how my name came from the Cup?"

It was impressive how he managed to maintain an almost normal tone despite his condition. Honestly, Jason was almost worried about the little brown one. The large gash he had on his shoulder and the others on his body continued to bleed. Jason was surprised that the other wizard had not yet collapsed. He noticed the pale face and slightly trembling body of the young Potter and rolled his eyes when he saw that none of the adults intended to do anything to relieve the pain of the newcomer. Couldn't they get over their damn shock?

"Uh, we - we don't know Mister Po– " Bagman stopped abruptly when he saw Potter grabbing another knife - this time one of his own, not the ones on the Slytherin table (he was much sharper) - and he started to sweat. Large drops. A satisfied smile stretched the little brunette's lips and widened when he noticed the pale and trembling form of the director of the Sports Games.

"I haven't really kept myself informed lately, but I have heard about the tournament. I imagine not being wrong in assuming to be at Hogwarts?" He spoke in a low and dangerous voice, but his suave tone electrified with pleasure more than one person.

Jason discreetly pinched his thigh ('Bad Jason, Bad!') to remember that the boy in front of them was barely fourteen, even though he looked a little older. Naturally, when he scanned the room with a nervous look, Jason noticed that quite a few people - male or female - had had the same reaction, some of whom were in the last year; so really, you couldn't blame him for his own reaction. The boy scanned the room neutrally before settling on one of the Slytherin kids (well, he said 'kid' but the boy was probably older than him) and he raised an eyebrow. Jason nearly choked on the Potter's gaze. Why was he looking at him like that? Ah, oh! The question. That's right, Potter - or whatever his current name is - had just asked a question. He nodded, vainly hoping not to give the impression of an excited and frantic puppy at the thought of pleasing his master. His response raised the shadow of a smile on the boy's lips. A blow in the ribs brought him down to earth.

"I don't want to get you out of your post-orgasmic state, Jay (Jason is smiling a bit) but you may want to wipe that stupid smile from your face." Came Adar Vaisey's amused whisper.

Jason blushes a little more. He didn't usually react like that. Truly not, it was not his style; he was a calm young man, almost as emotionless as Nott - two years younger. Reacting like that was not his type. Jason cast a murderous look on his friend, but his smile only widened a little more. Particularly when he saw Jay blush more after Potter nodded approvingly in his direction.

"How was my name- " Potter paused for a moment and a half bitter, half old smile stretched his lips. "Miraculously found in the Cup?"

Adar shivered. He could understand the reaction of Jason and so many others. Even he, who was not particularly sensitive to ambient magic, was electrified with pleasure so, what must it be Urquhart, who was a Sensitive? It must have been intoxicating. Ludo Bagman shivered in terror. Apparently, the man's standard answer, ''We don't know", did not please the boy. So much for him. He nervously licked his lower lip. Okay. Okay, he could do it. "We - We... We're going to investigate this, sir."

Potter raised an eyebrow, seeming to say, "Really?" But ended up nodding, looking unconvinced. "I hope so. After all... didn't you put in place exemplary security measures this year?"

"And how do you know that, boy?" Karkaroff's almost scathing voice intervened. As if he suspected he had entered his name himself. Potter (the boy hadn't given them a name so they had no choice but to think of him as 'Potter') looked almost amused.

"Viper is a very good informant. Although, now, he calls himself Mammon." The teenager's smile widened when he saw Karkaroff suddenly turns pale. Raven - he had renounced his birth name for many years and only used it during his correspondence and interviews with goblins - knew that he had heard Karkaroff's name several times. It was a bit of a bluff to mention Viper this way in the conversation, but he was right: he was sure that Karkaroff was one of the many people who owed money to Mammon (Viper) and naively thought they could escape it. Last (two out of three strokes Raven used masculine pronouns to define the Arcobaleno of the mist). A devastating smile stretched Raven's lips when he felt a shiver of fear spread through the green and silver table, "So, old man (more than one person choked on hearing the young man address Dumbledore like this). What are you planning to do?"

"Who are you thinking of, young man?" McGonagall intervened. Potter raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Judging by his behaviour, his physical appearance and his aura, I would say that he perfectly matches the description that the goblins gave me of a certain Albus Dumbledore. Even if, again, he refused to answer my simplest questions, so I cannot be sure."

Jason sniffed. It was clear that the Hogwarts director liked to beat around the bush and waste everyone's time. A girl at the Gryffindor table - Jason easily recognized her for the incredibly irritating Hermione Granger - launched into a rant about respecting elders, especially people like Albus Dumbledore and the young Potter sniffled. "Respect is earned and is not given for free, brat."

The 'brat' in question uttered an indignant cry at the idea of being so-called by a person the same age as her. Again, it was clear that the boy was much more mature so Jay was not really surprised. A satisfied grin stretched his lips. It was the first time that he had heard someone (who was not in Slytherin) answers the girl like that.

"Given what you have done to me and my parents, I would prefer that our interactions are minimal." There was a brief silence, and then the room exploded in a whisper.

"Harry, I don't know what the people who picked you up told you but –"

"I was not taken in by wizards," Potter replied. Raven was not lying. He had met the goblins long before he met the Vongola Assassination Squad and they couldn't exactly be considered wizards. "But the goblins are surprisingly helpful in the face of a common enemy."

Adar Vaisey exchanged a look with Jason Urquhart. Did they dream or no? They weren't dreaming. Potter had indeed declared that Dumbledore was an enemy of the Potter House. Oh, Salazar! It was real. And besides, had he just said that the goblins had known Potter for years? Maybe they even knew his Geolocation? Dumbledore obviously did not know how to react to this statement, but, seeing that Poppy was going to the young Potter to examine him, decided to add his grain of salt.

"Poppy, do you want to treat him well, young Mr Pott –"

"Don't call me that," interrupted Potter brutally. "Raven. It's my name. And your employee was already on the way." He paused for a moment and then gave a calculating look to Mrs Pomfrey, who was advancing in her direction. "Thank you, but it will not be necessary."

"But–"

"Your help is appreciated but your employer is obviously the director of Hogwarts and I do not intend to be approached by people affiliated with this man."

Jason understood everything that was not said. He knew what 'Raven' meant. He couldn't trust people affiliated with Dumbledore, knowing that they could take advantage of his state of weakness to gain the upper hand or do something to him. The fact that he was specifically against Dumbledore and claimed not to have been taken in by wizards considerably weakened the birth of rumours (those saying that he were taken in by families of death eaters).

Mrs Pomfrey nodded stiffly, but Jay saw that she was not happy that her position towards Dumbledore prevented her from watching over a potential patient. He settled the internal conflict of the Hogwarts nurse when a yellow flame was born in the palm of his hand and he carried it to his shoulder, where the large gash was. There was a surprised noise somewhere at the Slytherin table and Jason blinked when he saw Blaise Zabini jump up. It was not so much in Zabini's habit to act other than as the calm and distinguished half-Italian Pureblood that he was, that Jason straightened up instinctively. Zabini watched Pot - Raven calmly, a bit calculating, as if he was re-evaluating all the data he had on the Survivor, then he let out a breath and, in the silence of the room, we didn't have any trouble hearing it.

"Vindice?"

Raven's gaze narrows. Instinctively, he almost answered "Omerta". He cut himself in time. He was surprised that a Hogwarts resident was a member of the Mafia, but no more shocked than that. It was probably a family business. Responding with 'Omerta' was too obvious. Also, Raven nodded to the young man as a token of gratitude.

"Varia."

Zabini's eyes widened and Jason found himself wondering what had caused this surprise. Then, when he looked at it more closely, he noticed that one or two years past, as well as some Durmstrang students and their director (Karkaroff), had whitewashed. Whitened, and gained a vaguely admiring look. Bizarre. Honestly, Jason was puzzled. He was not sure what was going on. What exactly did these two words mean? Their fellow Slytherin nodded respectfully.

"Blaise Zabini."

"Raven, Sicario." Replied the Survivor, shimmering his action. Blaise swallowed his saliva. He hadn't really made the connection when the other boy had dropped his new name to avoid being called 'Mr Potter' or 'my boy' so much the idea that the Survivor and the famous assassin was one and even nobody seems stupid. Now, however, Blaise had heard of 'Raven' in the Underground. He knew that he was a skilled assassin and that he had attracted the attention of Vongola, in particular, Varia Quality. Raven had started to build a reputation a few years earlier. Blaise knew Raven was young, but he didn't know he was also young. What must he be ten years old, when he started making a name for himself? He advised the teenager's attire and swallowed again. He knew that the emblem sewn on the jacket told him something. It was the symbol of Varia.

"I didn't know they were recruiting as young." said Blaise carefully. Raven looked serene. "This is a recent change." Blaise nodded. Raven did not mean by this that the age of recruits varied over time, but that his association with Varia and Vongola by extension was a recent event.

"I thought they already had the sun." It was impossible not to have heard of the famous (the famous?) Lussuria. The shadow of a smile stretched Raven's lips. They might as well have been alone on Earth. "I am their Cloud. The sun is only my second affinity." Blaise blinked. Well then. He would never have guessed. Slowly, a smile stretched the half-Italian's lips and a rich laugh escaped. Adar blinked. He didn't think he had ever heard Zabini laugh. It was a completely foreign element. Their little introduction was brutally interrupted when one (Bagman - who had overcome his shock and his terror-, and Dumbledore) asked Harry to follow them into the anteroom, where the other Champions – who had had enough of waiting and had returned- were supposed to be. Raven gave the adults an unimpressed look.

"Sorry? You are fucking kidding, I hope."

"Language!" McGonagall intervened. She was ignored, much to her dissatisfaction.

"I will not participate. It is not my fault if you are not fucked up to put up a barrier powerful enough to stop any cheating," Karkaroff must have understood that he was innocent - or too frightened of what he had learned earlier - because he was silent.

"But Mr Pott–" began Bagman. He broke off on his own when he saw Raven start playing with one of his own knives.

"You know, I still have two dozen on me," said the young man, in a nonchalant tone. He received over a hundred incredulous looks and another laugh from Zabini. Ludo trembled a little, swallowed and then showed courage (or debility) when he refused to accept the Survivor's response.

"But finally, you were selected - your - your name was drawn and-"

"Can I see that?"

"So- Sorry?"

"My name…! I can see it?"

Ludo nodded frantically and ripped the piece of parchment from the hands of old Dumbledore, while Raven lazily but quickly approached the mini platform where the teachers' table was. Raven inspected the parchment when it was given, then sniffled and looked pleased.

"It's not my name."

"I understand that you have changed your name but the fact remains that you are-"

"No, you misunderstood me. You may know me as Harry Potter, but 'Harry' is just a diminutive. My parents also gave me three names, to avoid the possibility of finding myself in an illegal magic contract," Potter explained sweetly. "The first name on my birth certificate is 'Hadrian' by the way."

Dumbledore was on the ass. He had been so sure; he had bet everything on it. He was, how the hell? Lily and James had presented their child as 'Harry'. How could they have failed to give him his real name? It was so important. If he had known, he would have to get his hands on the boy's other names. He was unaware; however, that James and Lily (and a certain goblin) were the only ones who knew their son's full name.

Raven looked at the piece of parchment again and stroked it with his fingertips. "In addition, there is not my magic signature. You may have managed to summon me, but you can't force me to participate." He turned around and a small purple flame disintegrated the piece of parchment as he turned back.

"But - but finally!"

Crouch was interrupted by a telephone ring. Hermione opened her mouth to say it was impossible, that the electronics weren't working at Hogwarts, but she didn't have the chance; the little brown took his cell phone out of his pants pocket and picked up the phone, greeting his interlocutor in another language, which Hermione recognized as Italian, even if she was unable to understand what was said.

"Boss…? Yes... No, I was kidnapped by English wizards. No, everything is fine. I was going to leave... Oh... Yes... of course... If it pays well, no problem... Sure. See you later." The young man hung up, then blinked as he looked at his camera absently.

"Meh," he said slowly, without looking up from his phone. "It seems that they were useful to me, finally." It seems that he does not leave immediately in Italy. "Ciao." He said with a wave of his hand over his shoulder.

He didn't wait for an answer and left the room without looking back. It was as if he had never been there. Only the boy's traces of blood remained on the floor, the table and the wall, as evidence of the passage of Harry Potter. It would not be the last time, however, that the Magical Community of Great Britain was entitled to a glimpse of the black-haired adolescent.

**BONUS: Toaster Killer**

Three days after the draw for the names of the Champions of the Tournaments, the front-page article in the Daily Prophet shocked the Hogwarts students, as well as the invited delegations. Draco Malfoy had been dragged out of class by Lady Malfoy and the Malfoy family's lawyer two days earlier and had not been seen since. The wildest rumours had started to spread, especially since the arrogant blond had not been seen since. Now they were finally entitled to an explanation.

"LUCIUS MALFOY, FOUND DEAD IN HIS LIVING ROOM." was the headline that appeared in front page sorcerer most widely read in Britain.

Everything suggested that it was an accident, if not for two or three things. First, a gigantic kanji had been painted red on the living room wall and Narcissa Malfoy had assured the Aurors that it was not part of the original decoration.

Second, the cause of the incident was of Muggle origin. Apparently, Lord Malfoy had received a toaster in the head. He was almost dead on the neck. It was a fairly anti-climactic death. Especially when you know that Lucius Malfoy - Malfoys in general, in fact - was a very anti-Muggle man and shit there was no way this guy could have a Muggle object. (At first, no one recognized the toaster for what it was. It wasn't until the arrival of a Muggle-born trainee Auror that we realized that the murder weapon was an everyday object in the Muggle world.)

This meant that the assassin had brought back the object in question and had used it as a weapon. What irony. Maybe by belittling everyone around him, someone had finally cracked and killed Lord Malfoy? It was one of the most plausible explanations. The question was: how did the assassin get past the powerful protective barriers erected around the Malfoy Manor?

Blaise Zabini got up a little later than his comrades that morning and therefore went to the Great Hall for breakfast after his comrades. They were already well advanced in their lunch and in their reading when the half-Italian joined them at the table. So, of course, when Bletchley presented him with the daily copy of the Daily Prophet, he did not have his comrades to excuse his reaction; his lips parted as his eyes widened in a comical way. His Slytherin comrades - having long since regained consistency - did not miss the spectacle. So they were surprised when, during the reading, Zabini suddenly laughed. They had to admit that most of them were amused to learn that.

"What is happening to you Zabini?" asked Hestia Carrow. The Italian half finally calmed down and sniffed in amusement as he laid the newspaper down.

"They will never find the culprit. And if by some miracle they did, they would never stop it."

Did... Did Zabini happen to know who had killed Malfoy Sr? Rosier undertook to ask the question. An amused grin stretched Blaise's lips when he saw that he had the attention of a good part of the table and he swallowed his mouthful of pancakes before answering. "They said they found crow's wings close to the body."

Was... Was it supposed to answer their questions? Zabini scanned the table with an amused look, and then raised an eyebrow, a little mocking.

"Haven't we recently been visited by a crow?"

The best part is that it didn't break the Omerta. He just made his comrades think. And quietly persuade them not to report their findings to a teacher or the authorities. Not that they would do such a thing, no, but it was not said that they would not have the idea of reporting everything to their dear parents. Good for them. This may well bring more contact with the already famous young assassin. A satisfied grin stretched Blaise's lips when he heard Jason Urquhart choke on his saliva; it seems that his older brother understood where he was coming from, perhaps precisely because his eldest had spent the last three days daydreaming about a raven-coloured mop.

Blaise promised to tease his comrade about it later, although he knew full well that Adar Vaisey was already doing it; Vaisey did not know what Raven's professional occupation was. Zabini could say that, rather than put him off; it should only get Urquhart more excited. Blaise put the newspaper down in front of him. Malfoy Sr was killed by a toaster. He knew that Raven was the type to use knives and, on occasion, revolvers. Also, the toaster hit had caught him a bit off guard. Again, he always knew that the assassin had a special sense of humour (it quickly went around interested circles). He let out an amused laugh. He knew it was not the last he had heard of the famous 'Raven'.

At the teachers' table, Barty, in Moody's disguised, wondered if it was too late to go into exile in Lapland and hope that the master never found him. He knew the reputation of the Varia and did not want to make enemies of them, thank you very much.


End file.
